


i'm doing the best that i can

by everything555everything



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, Menstruation, Showers, adam's terrible apartment, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4203150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everything555everything/pseuds/everything555everything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Adam wakes up with blood on the sheets and a definite sense of dread.</em>
</p>
<p>


Ronan pops (barges) in on Adam to tell him school’s canceled. Adam’s kinda having a rough morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm doing the best that i can

**Author's Note:**

> the trans!Adam fic this fandom needs, but not the one it deserves  
> i'm not really sure how trans Adam would work in canon, especially because of Aglionby acceptance forms, unless Adam's lied on them, which let's be real he would probably do + get away with 
> 
> tw for fairly graphic depictions of menstruation/periods, and slight gender dysphoria  
> note: i'm not cis
> 
> title from Isolation by Joy Division because:  
>  _mother i tried please believe me  
>  i'm doing the best that i can  
> i'm ashamed of the things i've been put through  
> i'm ashamed of the person i am_

Adam wakes up with blood on the sheets and a definite sense of dread.

He can tell the moment he opens his eyes- not the blood, but the overwhelming sense of hopelessness and paranoid anticipation. It’s always like this in the mornings, and his heart speeds up as his mind tries to force itself back to sleep. He closes his eyes again, tight, takes a deep breath, tries to calm the beat in his chest.

Adam rolls over a little to mush his face into the pillow, and feels the _blood_ part.

He stills. Takes another deep, deep breath, rewarded with a slight lessening of anxiety. And then he sits up, resigned as Adam Parrish always is, to do work and fix things and fix himself and _one day, that will be me._

It’s not much effort to throw off the covers, he’s only ever slept with one sheet. Logically, he could sleep with more (could afford to buy more) but he doesn’t want to try. Adam can get by, even revel in the bare necessities, and that’s a point of pride that’ll probably stay with him forever.

The blood itself is a bright red and stains the inside of his thighs the same color. He’s bled out onto the mattress, thankfully not much, but his briefs are ruined for the moment.

Adam surveys the blood with a sort of muted horror. He’s never really going to get used to this, even after- what, five, six years now?

He does a quick mental calculation. The date is- yes, his cycle should have started a day ago, should have started _two_ days ago. Usually he doesn’t forget it, but he was so tired last night. So tired, from a fucking terrible job and terrible homework, enough to close the door and kick off his shoes and shorts and fall asleep only a couple minutes after curling up.

He wants to touch the blood, but if he does there’s a higher percent chance it’ll end up everywhere. Adam thinks of Gansey or Ronan finding bloody fingerprints on his schoolwork, and tightens his grip on the blanket.

That, at least, is preventable. Perhaps the most preventable it’s ever been in his life, honestly.

Adam considers his options, here. After a quick glance at the alarm clock, he’s got about forty-five total sixty-second intervals until he _actually_ has to get up. Waking up this early is just a left-over reflex of his last early-morning job, which he finally quit around two weeks ago. Adam’s body is still regulated to the awful time he had to check in, although he’s been getting better about sleeping in.

God, sleeping in. What a concept. It’s what he wants to do right now, just sink into the covers and close his eyes and wait until the screech of cheap plastic and wiring alerts him to the school day.

The blood says otherwise.

Adam kicks off the blanket still tangled around his feet, swings his legs to the side, and stands up, shakily. He needs a shower, and then to wash his clothes and try to get the stain off his mattress. If he moves quickly, he’ll accomplish that in enough time for a fast breakfast, then darting out the door.

He moves the sheet to cover the blood, because honestly, looking at it makes him sick. There’s always that feeling of _wrongness,_ which starts in his chest and creeps up to his throat.

A little subconsciously, his hand moves to his throat. Adam has nightmares about being choked, being unable to breathe. That, in this present, will not become a reality.

Adam shakes his head and clears his throat and moves towards the bathroom.

He washes out as much as the blood on his briefs as he can, then realizes it’s not doing much and gives up. Whatever. The solution here is that no one will ever look at his underwear, and because he finished his gym requirement almost two years ago this is easily attainable.

The shower helps. It helps to clean and preserve and generally make him feel better about himself. It also helps with the slowly growing pressure in his lower back that’s probably going to eat away at him during the day. It would kind of be a bad thing (a risky thing) to bring a heat pack to an all-boys school, when everyone knows he doesn't play a sport.

It’s stuck in his brain, probably a part of him as much as his pride, to conserve water and therefore money. The shower doesn’t last as long as he would like, but it never does, so Adam steps out and shuts off the water and grabs a towel.

He looks himself in the mirror. He’s decent, with wet hair and spiked eyelashes. The eyes in the mirror are blue and slightly vacant. It’s still too early for this, not when he’d been getting used to the Adam Parrish equivalent of sleeping in.

He draws the towel around himself, over his chest, almost up to his neck. This way, pretending, the folds almost make it look like his chest’s completely flat.

It’s nice to pretend. Adam allows himself this.

The bathroom doesn’t even have a fan, so he leaves the door open after showering. The door opens to the right, which is terrible, and more terrible when Adam moves around it to find a person standing with their back to him.

Adam does a weird sort of spasm where his feet say _move_ and his mind says _stay still._ It makes a small scuffling noise.

The person turns around from facing the bed, and pretty much does the same scuffle. Adam relaxes a tiny margin when he realizes that it’s just Ronan, and not some random being in his apartment.

He quickly revises that in his head. Ronan is never “just” Ronan. Still-

“Holy shit, Ronan,” he chokes. “What are you-“

Adam stops. Ronan is staring at him with his mouth open and eyes wide.

This isn’t really unusual. Ronan always stares at him, and Adam has gotten very good at pretending he doesn’t notice.

(He’s also gotten very good at staring back when Ronan won’t notice, but ah, well.)

The boy in question, however, seems to realize the particular context and consequences of their situation, and snaps his eyes to the side. “Jesus, Parrish,” he says, a little quickly. “Have some basic decency.”

Adam ignores the hypocrisy and ridiculousness of that statement, and instead manages a “How long have you been in my apartment?”

He knows Ronan has keys. He gave them Ronan, after one too many nights of the boy sleeping on his floor and an argument not-argument about housing violations. It had felt like a victory, at the time, to willingly give someone else access to himself. Or his apartment. Shit, not a good train of thought.

He focuses back on the present. Ronan’s not wearing his school uniform, which is a little surprising, as he clearly doesn’t have the time to go back to Monmouth and change before first bell.

Ronan shoves his hands in his pockets, which is not an answer. Adam raises his eyebrows, which Ronan’s line of sight can’t catch right now, but still feels good.

After a couple seconds of defense body language, Ronan answers. “I just came over to tell you something. It won’t take long.”

“Mmm,” hums Adam, who despite the best efforts of the towel is dripping some water onto the boards. He glances down at himself, trying to do it subtly. He doesn’t really look like- like anything other than what Ronan thinks he is. A little relief worms its way into his current pool of emotions.

“Anyway,” says Ronan, waving a hand. He’s still pretty obviously trying not to stare at Adam, who greatly appreciates this. “School’s canceled. Someone needed to tell you that, ‘cause of course you don’t have a fucking cellphone.”

“And so you let yourself into my apartment,” says Adam. Of course. He asks, exasperated, “Were you literally just planning on waking me up?”

Ronan’s mouth twists to the side. “I got here a little early.” Decently, he looks a little ashamed, underneath the typical Ronan Lynch brand stubbornness and unconcerned flair.

“You knew I was in the shower,” Adam accuses. “Why didn’t you just wait outside?”

Ronan shrugs. “I didn’t get here _that_ early. Aren’t you going to ask why?”

About school? Adam doesn’t really want to know, but he still says, “Why, Ronan?”

“It is the stupidest shit.” Ronan is grinning. “You’d think, like, half the building got blown to heaven for them to cancel on a Wednesday, but no, emergency goddamn PTA meeting. Over god knows what. I didn’t even know we had a PTA, there’s no way enough actual fuckin’ parents live here to be a part of it. Maybe they flew in or something.”

Adam wants to tell him to get out, but also to ask, _Where even is the nearest airport?_ because half of their normal conversations are Adam getting pulled in by Ronan’s inane bullshit, and this is no different.

He opts to just not say anything and look somewhat judgmental, hoping to make Ronan uncomfortable. It works. The boy shifts his feet a little and jerks his head to the other side.

Adam would very much like to get dressed, but he can’t really do that with Ronan here. If he was- was the person Ronan thinks he is, he imagines that he’d just casually walk past and throw on a shirt and continue looking judgmental, but more confident about it.

Adam glances over Ronan at the plastic storage tub he knows his binder is hidden in. It’s a gift from Gansey, because Gansey offered to pay for anything transition-related to Adam. Adam wouldn’t take it, so they compromised on a secret Christmas gift around when Adam had started to feel _really_ bad.

_Anything I achieve in this world, I will achieve myself._

Because Gansey has offered to pay for _everything._ He’s offered to pay for hormone therapy and legal name changes and once, top surgery, but Adam shut that down pretty quickly. He’s comfortable enough with what he has right now. At least, enough.

As it is, though, Ronan’s not going anywhere and it’s going to get progressively more clear why Adam is holding the towel all the way up the longer he stays.

Adam clears his throat. He’s not sure when it got rough. “Were you planning on staying? Because I need to get dressed.” He tries to make his voice as cynical as possible.

Ronan, apparently relieved to have been given this out, turns towards the door. Then he stops. “Man, you’re still going out? I just told you school’s canceled. You need to learn how to sleep in.”

“I _am_ learning how to sleep in.”

“Whatever, just-“ Ronan’s got one hand on the door, but he looks back, straight into Adam’s eyes. He seems to struggle with some variation of words known only to himself. “Just take care of yourself. Bye.” And then he’s gone, door slammed because Ronan Lynch doesn’t really know how to give things closure without doing it in the most violent way possible.

Adam closes the door behind him.

 _I don’t think he knows,_ his mind says. _I don’t think he saw. He doesn’t see you like that._

Adam does plan on telling Ronan. Eventually. He plans on telling Blue. _Eventually._

Out of Adam’s immediate circle of friends, only Gansey and Noah know, because Gansey is the most important person to happen to Adam and Noah knows how to keep a secret.

Noah doesn’t like conflict. Gansey doesn’t, either, but unlike the ghost he’s willing to face it.

Adam Parrish is good at packing up his feelings with masking tape and never using a box cutter. It’s just that sometimes he isn’t in control of the knife. The feelings about himself and the secrets about his identity will bubble over someday, and he hopes at that time he’ll be the one willingly sharing them.

The wood is rough under the pads of his fingertips, pressed lightly. He glances at the bed. It’s tempting to take Ronan’s advice and crawl back in and doze off and use a heat pack and hang around shirtless because Ronan probably isn’t coming back.

It’s also logical to know that if he goes down to the shop, there’ll probably be a few cars and a few bucks waiting for him.

Adam starts in on the whole “clothes” thing, resigned to do work and fix things and fix himself until- _one day, that will be me._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading


End file.
